


Underlayment

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-12
Updated: 2002-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two hands, two cocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underlayment

## Underlayment

by Miriam Heddy

[http://members.bellatlantic.net/~vze3gwsy ](http://members.bellatlantic.net/~vze3gwsy)

* * *

Underlayment 

The jacket came off first, and that was easy enough. The shirt was next, and harder, even though the crisp lavender cotton was less than crisp this late in the day, and the smell of his own sweat was starting to annoy him. 

He fumbled a little with the belt, the metal catch not wanting to pull out from the well-worn hole. He slipped off his shoes, and stood there in his socks and pants and undershirt, intently not thinking about anything (especially not upper management, and not Lawrence Burditch, who was going to be spit-shining the cowshit off of Level 2 if he didn't start aligning his budget to something marginally resembling reality... except no--) 

He took his socks off and bit back a sigh, wondering when he'd gotten to be the kind of person who gave a shit about budgets and... shit. 

He poured a drink, offering a toast to the glamorous life of "Lex Luthor, Midwestern Playboy." The slide of wet brandy down his throat was almost the right temperature, but too sweet, and he felt his throat click dryly against it. 

He took off the undershirt, next, and removing it felt like peeling off a layer of skin, the thin cotton soaked with sweat, disgusting, actually. 

He shivered, took another mouthful of brandy, scowling mildly at himself, at just how _hard_ it was to do this, how much easier it was in the dark, in bed, where he could close his eyes and close out everything but sensation, and sometimes even that, and feel and think nothing at all. 

Was emptiness really too much to ask for on a day like this? 

He quickly pulled down the pants and underwear in one movement, looking up at the mirror almost as an afterthought. He looked... naked. Tired. And too much showed on his face that he couldn't bring himself to (but _should_ ) mask when he was alone. 

Objectively speaking, he supposed that, even without the money (as if he could imagine _that_. He laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, unclenching his hands), he'd do all right--just the right mix of muscle and prepubescent hairlessness to trip someone's kink. Not his own, but... 

Clark would be polite about it, pretending not to notice. Or maybe he wouldn't notice, or he'd find him reassuring. Probably remind him of playing doctor when he was--what? Jesus. 

Now there's an image. 

Yes, there, like that, exactly. His--Clark-- 

His hand found the stroke even though it was a little disorienting to see it in the mirror, left where he went right, his hand closing over the head of his dick each time, just for a second, before pulling back up, brushing quickly up over his belly, bleach-pale like the rest of him--close your eyes and _do_ this, don't look. Look--the way he would. 

There. Clark, his hand would be (is is he _is_ ) clumsy, squeezing too hard, stroking too softly, lingering at the base of Lex's cock until he realizes he's doing it, and then, blushing hard, Clark's hand starts moving again, feigning casual interest in the jut of hipbones, safe territory--then one hand slides back, less casual now, not safe at all, skimming over and then kneading Lex's ass.... 

Yes, wet, yes, Clark's lips opening against him, no time, Clark lowering himself-- 

ah yes, lowering himself-- 

pressing his mouth to rest against Lex's floating ribs, lower, still, then breathing hard, warm moist air against Lex's cock before the ohgod yes, the heat of Clark's mouth sealing tight against him, taking him in, one of Clark's hands holding him steady as Clark's mouth works him, finding the rhythm of suck, lick, and 

Oh! 

Clark shuddered, throwing his head back onto the floor, barely noticing the splintering wood as he thrust back and up again, not breathing in the sweet, stale air of the loft as he stroked himself, wondering how long he could last without it, without air, without Lex... 

How long would Lex last if he pulled him like this, fist clenched around him--but softer--he'd have to be careful. Lex would be flushed and sweating, breathing hard, humping his hand like it was _everything_ Lex wanted, like he didn't need Victoria, or--what was her name? what were their names? He didn't want to know. Chloe, Lana, don't think about--Victoria sliding wetly over him, bad and good, Victoria's breasts damp and soap-slick and crushed against Lex's hard chest, the sound of their bodies sliding wetly together--and he wasn't going to think of that now--now it was just Lex, now that it was just Lex--alone, and Clark--Clark would give him everything, tell him everything-- 

Oh. 

But falling was easier this time. It got easier every time. 

* * *

Feed the Muse  
<miriam.heddy@verizon.net>


End file.
